


How to Turn a Jedi to the Dark Side in Just Five Easy Steps

by mandrakefunnyjuice



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: Do-goodery, Drama, F/M, Gen, Humor, Jawa, Mild Language, Multi, Sci-Fi, Sith Superiority, Violence, What-the-hell-moments, badassery, legacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandrakefunnyjuice/pseuds/mandrakefunnyjuice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots revolving around SWTOR, with various characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Face, Two Face, Red Face, Blue Face

* * *

 

 

> "The irrationality of a thing is no argument against its existence, rather a condition of it." ― Friedrich Nietzsche. _Human, All Too Human_ (1878)

* * *

There were three faces to him that Vette knew of.

The first face was the one that Vette disliked the most. It was the face that made enemies cower before the might of the Sith. It was a special face that he wore only for his Master; this face was not entirely artificial. It always lurked just beneath the surface of those gleaming golden eyes, waiting to pounce without a moment's notice like a hungry tuk'ata on its prey.

He never embodied so fully his heritage than he did when he wore his first face. The fallible, normal, and endearing parts of him would fall away, to be replaced by the phenomenally inhumane might of the Sith. Every inch of him would change, filling out and stretching into a Sithy mold, creating a disturbing visage of both rage and austerity. His growly voice would deepen in menace, and his accent would become clipped and harsh around the edges. The first face was without the charms of his other faces – it was made to terrify. The first face held a piercing glare that could crumble a Sithspawn where it stood, a cold cruelty that might level grown men and bring them down to their knees in fearful tears. He was handsome by all accounts, and it frightened Vette a bit how apparent that still was with the first face – that kind of beauty, Vette knew, would kill you and dance on your grave. It would lull you into a false sense of security and rip your throat out without a second thought. That he still held sway over her, even when he was dripping with pure _Sithyness_ made her want to curl up in a corner and cry.

Her consolation was the second face. He didn't show it to many people. Vette suspected that she might be one of the only ones who knew about it, though why, she didn't really know. She once told him that his 'nice' side was her favorite side. He smirked and told Vette only she would know, since she was the only one who'd ever seen it.

The second face was, in some ways, the opposite of the first. It was warm and soft where the other side of him was jagged and cold. It was clever and funny where the other one had a stick up his ass. The second face was the Sith she liked – whenever he was like this, Vette could pretend he was the big older brother that beat up all the other kids who dared to mess with her. This face was a deviant, a prankster, a friend, and more. Honestly, Vette wasn't sure what to make of the second face, since it only emerged so rarely.

The coldness was still there, though, deep within the second persona. The pureblood in him would never leave. He could laugh along with everyone else but something would always set him apart from others, even other Sith that Vette had seen. She felt that some innate aspect of him was incapable of merging with the 'verse like everyone else, and was probably the source of the passion that lurked behind those quirky eyes. At their very core, all Sith were driven by base instinct, and then taught to harness that instinct and wield it like a club against everything that stood in their way. The second face was no different in that respect, but it was kindly deceptive in that it pretended not to be any of these things. It hid the darker parts of him away where no one had to see, so the brighter parts could come out and play.

It followed that his third face was a blend of the others. Vette felt that this one was less of a face that he wore, though, and more like one that he'd had all along, just buried beneath the first two. Like the other two faces only existed to keep this other version of him away. She wasn't necessarily terrified of this face. It didn't have the dichotomous chill and fury of the first face, but it lacked the shocking gentleness of the second. It was shocking in a completely new way.

She wasn't sure when this third face had snuck up on her and decided to stay – to her mind, it had happened suddenly and without warning. According to Quinn (who must've have been stalking him, what a creeper!), he wasn't different at all – he'd been this way for quite some time. Quinn blamed the mission, which was souring their lord's temperament.

Vette? Vette blamed Tatooine.

The planet was a worthless dust ball not fit to piss on. No one loved Tatooine. _Everyone_ hated it. Vette was sure that even the Sand People secretly hated it there, and that was why they were so angry, because they couldn't find a way off it since they were too crazy-stupid to use starships.

He, after cycling through his various faces to try and find a way to trail their elusive Jedi target, became _incredibly_ frustrated. Sand People attacking every nine seconds, Exchange gangsters every five feet, incompetent Imperials, Republic spies, swarms of angry bantha and crazy cyborg Czerka zombies around every corner and over every other sand dune – there was only so much strain a poor Sith could take. At the time Vette wasn't sure she wanted to find out what would happen when he finally cracked.

Then came the Sand Demon.

She had _not_ been looking forward to fighting it, being firmly under the impression, despite his reassurances, that she was Sand Demon fodder the very second they entered that gross-smelling cave. Anything that lived long enough to earn the moniker 'Sand Demon' was something to _avoid._ You didn't need to be a starship engineer to figure that out. It seemed only natural that the beastie was the size of a krayt dragon and twice as ugly, by all accounts, and it was hungry forsoft, nubile, Vette-flesh.

But he had had enough. He'd had enough of Sand People, he'd had enough of cyber-zombies, he'd had enough of nutty jawa, and he'd had _enough_ of running across the desert, chasing some hermit Jedi no one gave a shit about. So it was without preamble that he stomped right up to the red-eyed insectoid, which was comical since it was at least seven times his own size, its pincers dripping with acid (and maybe some drool), poked it straight in the eye and snarled in the scariest, most venomous voice Vette had ever heard: " _ **Fuck off!**_ "

And then it did.

The thing took one look at him, clacked its pincers twice, squealed, and then scuttled away in fear with a metaphoric tail between its chitinous legs. Vette was pretty sure it was peeing itself a little.

The nasty Sand Demon didn't get very far, since it dropped dead the minute it lost eye contact with his mighty Sith-ness. Once the smell of the thing's innards washed out of her armor, Vette would make a mental note to introduce him to all her friends as the Man That Literally Glared a Demon to Death, No Really, That Actually Happened.

After that incident, he seemed to discover a middle ground between "really goddamn pissed off" and "fuck everything," and was apparently too much of a trouble for the Reflection at the Oasis to even _bother_ dispensing half-baked cryptic advice to. The mysterious, glowing apparition took one look at its doppelganger in his half-crazed, half-exhausted, and all-angry state and fell right the hell over.

He only snorted, like he'd expected this sort of thing all along. Vette didn't know what to make of it. At the time, she decided that this new face wasn't too bad, if it meant less shooting and having to do stuff. It wasn't as if she was getting paid overtime here. Day in and day out it was work, work, work all the time! Quinn seemed to get off on it, which was a little weird, but Vette could enjoy the break. After all, all Mr. Sith had to do know was give everything one furious, bloodshot glare and everything went fleeing in terror in the other direction. He'd even pointed it at a bantha once and Vette swore that she could actually _hear_ the poor thing shit a brick.

After the seventh encounter with Sand People on Tatooine and their illustrious leader ripping them apart with his twin lightsabers in a haze of fury, shrieking curses in every language imaginable, Vette had turned to Quinn with a frown.

"So how long do you think this is gonna last?" She asked.

The Imperial gave her a Look. The barely-disguised-disgust-Look. Good ol' Quinn. She could always count on him to be the same old, surly creeper. "Be grateful my lord isn't taking it out on us. At least his rage is being channeled in a constructive manner."

"You gotta point, Quinny."

"Please don't call me that, Vette."

She ignored him and stared after the Sith, who was still venting his rage in creative and invasive ways. The remaining Sand People were fleeing – the ambush party had consisted of seven riflemen and two of what they called 'shamans.' Only three riflemen were left standing, barely. They didn't get very far when Baras' apprentice noticed they were trying to sneak off.

"No you don't _**you bastards**_ _!_ " he growled and stretched out his arm, clenching one in a force-choke. He threw the lightsaber in his left hand at another one and felled the third one with a force push, sending it flying and snapping its neck mid-flight.

Vette turned back to Quinn. "I don't know if I'd call that 'constructive,' but hey, I'm all glad over here he's not taking it out on us. Better the native wildlife on the line then my lekku. Oh, that reminds me, could you remind me to get 'em buffed after we leave this planet? The sand is messing up everything, and it gets _everywhere._ "

"You're not kidding," their leader spoke up. Vette jumped, not realizing he'd crept up on them. Quinn smirked a bit at her surprise and she stuck her tongue out at him, since she couldn't think up a comeback.

Mr. Sith seemed to have calmed down quite a bit, but Vette could still feel the sheer _irritation_ and _rage_ emanating from him, and she wasn't even Force-sensitive. His expression twisted in disgust as he grabbed his robes and shook them, sand falling out. "This bloody sand is getting in everything! I'm never coming to this cesspit they insult by calling a planet again. One of you make a note of that."

Vette nodded dutifully. "Tatooine bad. Avoid forever. I got it."

"Good. I'm serious, fuck this planet. I hate it and everyone in it. Even the Jawa are starting to tick me off, and I've always _liked_ Jawa. This planet is a worthless shithole."

"We believe you, my lord," Quinn agreed readily. "With two suns, very little in the way of entertainment venues, and temperatures ranging into the obscene, this planet is utterly horrible. Even the people who live and earn their livelihood here can't stand the place. To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised in the recent future if some errant Sith Lord turns the whole surface into glass in a fit of pique."

"Oh, that will be the day." Sith-boy's face lit up in a joy Vette was wholly unfamiliar with, even when he was wearing his second face. If she didn't know better, she'd say the man was almost _ecstatic._ But getting happy was something Sith just didn't do. Right? "That will be a glorious, wonderful day, Quinn. Maybe if I'm a good enough apprentice, Baras will do it for me! Do you think I have any chance of that happening, or is that just too lucky?"

Quinn shrugged. "One can always hope, my lord."

"Luck ain't our strong suit," Vette unhelpfully reminded. "But hey, hope is good! Hope's all we have left. Hope that maybe, _eventually_ this Sand Demon smell will wash out!"

 _His_ yellow eyes rolled, glinting briefly in the shadowed light of the canyon they'd been ambushed in. She saw another flash of the second face emerge. It was only for a second, but it put her a little more at ease. "Oh, please. A round in a refresher will fix that."

"I hope so, because this is really gross."

"For once," the pet Imp announced, "Vette and I agree on something."

The twi'lek scrunched up her face in distaste. "Ew. Okay, that doesn't happen often for a reason."

Eventually the Sith cut off the snark before it got out of hand and the Rage Face went back on. The rest of Tatooine had been a blur – Quinn was sent back to prep the ship for takeoff when Master Yonlach's location was finally discerned. She and Mr. Grumpypants went on by themselves to milk the old Jedi Master for all he was worth. If this hadn't been craziest, scariest, _weirdest_ series of events she'd ever experienced, she would've been worried. After seeing both the Sand Demon and the Oasis' apparition both fall over dead at the apparently terrifying sight of Baras' apprentice's glare, one cranky old Jedi Master wasn't any worry. She only hoped she'd get back in time for dinner.

In a change of pace Vette wouldn't have foreseen even if you'd paid her to guess, he left the Jedi alive, if broken. Meant to give the girl a message, or something. Vette didn't get these Sith games sometimes. They just made no sense. They were trying to kill you, they weren't trying to kill you, now they want you to join their wacky religion . . . whatever.

Still, the third face never fled for an instant that entire time, and Vette couldn't help but wonder if he was burning out at both ends. There was only so much fury a person could contain before they got tired of it all. Right? Even the most vile of Sith had to get tired of all the corruption and hate . . . right? Even _he_ had to stop to smell the blood, or catch a drink at the cantina. But he pressed on until the very end, radiating rage in every step. If Vette squinted, she swore she could see the actual rage dripping off of him like black ichor. 'Course, that could've been a mirage from all the heat, or just a plain old hallucination induced by his black robes. (Come to think of it, why hadn't he died of heat exhaustion yet in those things?) This wasn't the callous malice of the first face, but Vette would almost have preferred it if it was – at least with the first face, you knew where you stood. This new side of him didn't seem to care about anything or anyone. It just wanted to blow shit up.

Vette could respect that desire. In some ways she even sympathized. Who didn't feel like that, from time to time? She just hoped it wouldn't cost her in the end. _A Sith is as a Sith does,_ as he'd told her the day they met. That entire day had been a series of what-the-hell moments, come to think of it, much like her entire life had been ever since she'd met him. Vette couldn't find it in herself to regret any of it, though. He sure made life interesting.


	2. Sixth Time's the Charm

* * *

>  "Light thinks that it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds that the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it." -Terry Pratchett. _Reaper Man_ (11th Discworld), (1991)

* * *

Mikah Vosh wasn't happy.

She had been toiling her time away in relative peace within the lonely, looming sanctuary of the Dantooinian Enclave when, suddenly and without warning, she was called to Tython. A 'transfer' they called it, 'to ease your training into the Ways.' On the one hand, to set foot on the Jedi homeworld was a tremendous honor, incredibly exciting, and she was relieved to finally have the opportunity to go through her Trials. On the other, she had been assigned to a new Master named 'Yuon Parr.' There was no feasible way that this could or would end well.

Many padawans lived their lives without ever being formally assigned to a Master. Many more were only ever assigned to one, and one only. They were the fortunate ones. Mikah had **five**.

Only one of them, her first master, was still amongst the living. Master Witsei was once a kindly old twi'lek, before he had entered into a forced retirement on Alderaan where he now lived in the care of House Organa under the delusion that he was a talking, Force-sensitive lamppost named Ben. Mikah had wondered, at the onset of his madness, if it was really a blessing that he had stayed amongst the living and not just imploded on the spot like her third master (Master Shea Vargas had gone down in the archives as the first recorded case of spontaneous _im_ plosion, unlike Mikah's fifth Master who had been the third spontaneous _ex_ plosion), but in the end Witsei's illness wasn't harmful to anyone but himself when he stood outside for eight hours at night in the winter, in his skivvies, firmly convinced that he was illuminating everyone's night.

The mysterious trend of Mikah's masters becoming inexplicably ill or dying wasn't exactly the reason why she wasn't happy. It was precisely the reason that Mikah refused to believe in the will of the Force, and this made her unhappy, since it was a positively unpopular opinion. As a Miraluka and a Jedi initiate she of course believed in the Force – you'd be utterly delusional not to. It granted her sight, life, and everything. She believed in the unifying aspect of the Force and was very adept in its use, especially for her age (some even called her a prodigy), but she could not sincerely believe that it had a will of its own. If it did, it clearly favored the crueler Sith way of thinking, and that heretical conclusion would disprove everything she had ever learned about the Jedi throughout her life . . . and to think that she had wasted her entire life's accomplishments was _beyond_ unacceptable.

So, despite her tendency as a Miraluka towards the idea of harmony and unity of life through Force, she did not believe that it had a will of its own. Fate, or Destiny, was just a different lens to view the universe through. Mikah had spent a great deal of time thinking about it and came to the conclusion that despite all that she saw, the Force was not a unifying intelligence that encompassed all life. It was not willful. It was not intelligent. It simply was, and that was all. The Force was an amalgam of energies that spanned the known universe, a convergence of life and purpose that reified the galaxy into a singular whole; there was no greater meaning to it. There was no all-encompassing intent behind the Force. It did not guide people, it just was. Any "light" or "dark" sided aspirations attributed to it were in the mind of the user, and nothing more. The story of the Prodigal Knight was proof enough that wherever and upon whatever path one found strength, whether it is through light or dark, passion or peace, the true strength lied on the individual's own confidence in their beliefs, and their ties to the midichlorians in their blood, which tethered them to the Force. It was all about the midichlorians in the end.

Needless to say, this belief was highly controversial. Even her own people shook her head at her mindset, but Mikah did not mind. She was assigned no more masters after her last one's timely explosion. She had been blissfully teacher-less, sequestered away in the Jedi academy on Dantooine so that her disharmonious views would infect no more fragile padawan minds. That is, until this 'Yuon Parr' popped up, and petitioned to have her assigned to him. Or was it her? Mikah wasn't clear on that part; sometimes these androgynous human names confused her.

As she grudgingly boarded the shuttle that would drag her to the Jedi world of Tython to meet her master, Padawan Vosh couldn't help but pray to all the gods she knew of that this unfortunate Master would not meet her or his end like all the others. She hoped that the Force would not be cruel and explode her newest master in a spectacular fashion, nor devolve her new master's sanity, but considering her track record she prepared herself mentally for that eventuality. Whatever will be, will be, will of the Force or no. At the very least, she hoped that she was not in the room whenever that horrible, inevitable thing would happen to her new Master, just in case she had to buy a new set of robes from the blood spatters like last time. Jedi robes were getting more expensive these days, what with the Cold War and such the rarer materials required to make them were getting harder to find. Synthweavers were having a boom in business, though, so it was true what they say – one man's desh was another man's rubidium.

Mikah was greeted as she stepped out of the shuttle into the lively, fresh air of Tython by none other than Syo Bakarn, a master on the Jedi council. She stared, taking in his presence through the Force. _Now what is this about?_

She greeted him in honor, but was still confused. His aura was immense and powerful, to be expected, but it seemed strangely imprecise, as if he were hiding something from her. But he was a Master of the Council; his agenda was not for Mikah to know. Master Bakarn told her that Yuon was late, but it was nothing to be concerned about, and he wished her a pleasant stay on Tython, despite the terrifying, ever-present threat of the Flesh Raiders.

Mikah started. "I-I'm sorry, what?"

"Flesh Raiders," Syo Bakarn repeated calmly. "Native life forms. They are ferocious cannibals whose attacks have increased lately – as a matter of fact, we have a team currently combatting them and attempting to figure out what fool gave them blasters."

"The ferocious native cannibals have blasters?" Mikah scratched at her headdress, feeling slightly ill and defeated inside. "Forgive me if I find myself wondering why you wished me a pleasant and uneventful stay here on Tython, Master."

He only shrugged. Through the Force, Mikah could sense no changes in his presence – apparently the threat of Flesh Raiders was cared for, as he said. She felt comforted that they had the situation under control; the Kath hound population on Dantooine was reaching ridiculous proportions. Some time back, a Jedi had attempted to alter the local population through selective breeding and somehow only increased their birth rates, rendered them all but immune to anything short of a point-blank carbine shot to the head, and made them even _more_ hostile. Thankfully, chopping off their heads with a lightsaber was a good enough remedy. A standard training session on Dantooine usually involved foraging out into the wilderness with a few other Padawans and culling the local herd. Kath hound bites were disgusting and very hard to treat, considering how filthy the animals were. It made for excellent healing practice, though, which was one of Mikah's strengths. As it were, she had been looking forward towards the peace and quiet of Tython; hearing about hostile natives was the exact opposite of good news. Though, she supposed it was very petty of her to complain about such things, and kept her mouth shut. She trusted emphatically in the wisdom of the Jedi – after all, what was the alternative? Being a slave to the brutal Sith Code? Absolutely not.

"Yuon has been busy out on various dig sites during her stay here."

Mikah held up a hand, interrupting. "Forgive me, Master, but dig site?"

"Master Parr is a famed archeologist," Bakarn informed her in that same, monotone-yet-tranquil voice. "She travels far and wide, meeting and befriending many different cultures. Her views tend to be very different and some Council members – unlike me – find them controversial."

If Mikah had eyes, they would have widened. She knew next to nothing about this Yuon Parr. This was to be her master? She might grow to like this character. She considered then that her own controversial reputation might have been what brought Master Parr to summon her all the way to Tython. It was a common belief back on Dantooine that Mikah was cursed among padawans. No Master _wanted_ her, after what happened to the first five. It had irked at her, these few days, not knowing why this person – who was apparently a woman, which was good to know – had chosen her, out of all the prospective padawans.

"May I ask what she is researching here on Tython?" Mikah inquired politely, curious.

Syo Bakarn shrugged, which was unhelpful. "Yuon's work is her own. Ancient holocrons, I think. Tython is riddled with them – she should have been back by now, but I would have felt if something was wrong. I'm sure a proper excuse for her lateness will come up when she shows. You're welcome to wait here in the meantime, Padawan."

Mikah decided to do just that, because she had nothing better to do. She plopped down on the ground and bowed her head under the pretense of meditation – during her time on Dantooine she discovered that if bowed her head and sat down, cross-legged, people all just naturally assumed she was doing some "Jedi-thing" and left her alone. It was dishonest, yes, but sometimes dishonesty was excusable for the sake of a little peace and quiet. Miraluka were not necessarily social creatures, at least not "social" in the way other beings were. They tended to communicate through the Force more than through speech. Mikah supposed she differed in that sense, since she had grown in the company of many other species at the Enclave. She liked to be in cities and crowds – watching the luminous outlines of all the people and strange creatures crowded together, flowing like a river, was almost hypnotic. Sometimes, though, one just needed to be _alone._ For an inexplicable reason, Master Bakarn rubbed her the wrong way – she could not explain it, but she was already experiencing _very_ un-Jedi like thoughts about force-tripping him – so she did her darndest to appear to be busy in thought, just in case the creepy master with the funny hairdo decided to strike up a conversation again.

It wasn't overlong before her new master arrived. Mikah was aware of the rapid footsteps long before her fellow Jedi was. "Master Parr," Syo Bakarn greeted.

Mikah lifted her head and examined the newcomer. Sure enough, Yuon Parr was a woman. _Humans and their odd names,_ she thought. Yuon Parr was a calming presence, all light blues and bright greens – there was a delightful vibrancy about her aura that spoke of candor tinted with experience. She could tell that this woman had seen many wondrous things in her long life. But also deep down, there was a darkness – or a sadness, Mikah could not tell the difference. It did not seem to be a sickness, but it painted an ugly backdrop to the Master's otherwise liveliness. However, it was rude to read any further into a person, as if Mikah had gone any further she would have been intruding on Master Parr's very mind, and that was no way to start a relationship.

Padawan Vosh rose politely to attention and brushed off her robes. Physically, Yuon Parr was a diminutive older woman with bright green eyes and long brown hair, speckled with gray, brought into a high ponytail. Her robes were unadorned and clean, but she looked harried, and through the Force Mikah could sense that she was burdened with distress. The padawan knew instinctively something was deeply amiss.

Yuon turned to her fellow master and greeted him swiftly. Mikah clasped her hands and waited patiently until the attention came to her.

Eventually, Master Parr turned to her new padawan. She looked regretful. "I am sorry our introduction must be cut so short, Padawan," she apologized, "but due to the increased Flesh Raider activity in the area, my hands are tied."

Mikah bowed her head. "I am prepared to assist in whatever capacity you may need me, Master."

Yuon folded her arms and examined her newest padawan with tight lips. "Actually, there _is_ something you can do for me. Before the Flesh Raiders attacked I received a transmission from one of my fellows regarding some rather fascinating holograms . . ."

And that was how Mikah Vosh ended up trekking across the surface of Tython on a wild goose chase for ancient holo-records. Mikah could admit that they were rather fascinating – the personalities of ancient Jedi Masters had been programmed into the holograms to preserve their teachings. They were not as advanced as holocrons and were incapable of answering complex questions, but it was still an interesting task. The only problem was that one of them was missing. The young padawan was a little ashamed to admit to herself that no, she was not above lying to her master and telling her that the flesh raiders did it, because her legs hurt from all the walking and fighting cannibalistic natives (who, by her homeworld, had given them _blasters?_ And where were they, so she could smack them?) – but she had been raised to be honest, and with a heavy sigh turned on her communicator to give her master the bad news.

"Master, I recovered most of the holograms but one is missing. It was removed from its pedestal by someone with a great deal of care." Mikah paused. "Flesh raiders may be intelligent enough to use blasters, but from what I've seen they lack the intelligence for anything this meticulous. My instincts tell me that it was recently stolen. It's likely that the thief took this attack as an opportunity. How should I proceed from here?"

" _Hmm . . . this is inconvenient. Well, head to the Temple with the holograms you have as soon as possible, padawan. I will meet you there and we'll discuss this new development, and your training from here on out. You've done very well."_

 _"_ Thank you, Master. Er, where . . . where exactly is the Temple?"

" _Ah yes, I forgot that you're new to Tython! Just follow the path north, you can't miss it._ "

"Right."

" _And be careful, Padawan. There are still many flesh raiders in the area._ "

* * *

By 'many,' Mikah assumed that Yuon meant, 'their entire race camped out on the countryside,' as that was literally almost the entirety of the number of flesh raiders she encountered on her perilous trek to the Temple. Mikah was not an amateur with the Force, or with her training blade, and flesh raiders posed little danger to her even with the blasters, but _still._ She made a mental note to file a complaint with someone about this. What kind of Temple where they running here on Tython? She was safer on Dantooine surrounded by exploding Masters and hordes of rabid Kath hounds (though it _was_ kind of fun).

After hours of trekking through the Tython wilderness, Mikah finally arrived at the Temple, and it was worth the wait. She was in awe. The Jedi Temple was a bastion of light and power, made of circles and curves, rounded and open; completely unlike the bleak and confining Enclave where she'd been raised. Though Mikah had never been to the ruins of the Temple at Coruscant, she'd seen images of the ancient ziggurat that was once the headquarters of her Order. This new Temple was a beautiful contrast to the tall austerity of the old, and yet there was something old and familiar to this Temple; something that sung to the Force in her. As Mikah approached, she appraised the vast stone cupolas and wooden statues, and realized the familiarity that she felt for what it was. The building was both old and new – built with local resources, by Jedi hand, on Jedi ground. Sacrosanct. Tython was and seemingly always had been the heart of the Order; fitting for a Deep Core World colonized by Jedi.

The young padawan nodded respectfully to the fellow students that crossed her path and slowly, ponderously made her way up the Temple's steps. After clambering up the last step and pausing to catch her breath, Mikah admitted to herself (but would never say this aloud) that maybe it was a good thing Coruscant's Temple had been destroyed, as she likely would not have made it up the main entrance's infamously long stairs. Though it would have been wondrous to set foot in the Sacred Spire, or behold the Room of a Thousand Fountains with her own eyes . . . er, figuratively speaking.

Though she had to ask for directions once, Mikah managed to find her way to her new master's chambers, whereupon she encountered a rather odd situation – her master having heated words with a Trandoshan hunter. She had not even been aware that there were Trandoshans who kept to the old ways, but by the bearing and attire of this one, she had been wrong. Mikah stepped into the room and observed the odd couple, curiously noting the colors in both of their auras – tense, but friendly. They obviously knew one another, likely for years.

When Yuon finally noticed her new padawan, she looked rather abashed. "Ah! You're here! Allow me introduce you to an old friend of mine, Qyzen Fess. Qyzen, this is my new Padawan, Mikah Vosh."

"It is an honor to meet you," Mikah politely inclined her head.

"Is my honor," Qyzen hissed in return.

"Qyzen was visiting, and has offered us his assistance," Yuon explained.

The Miraluka frowned, confused. "Assistance in what?" She turned back to Qyzen. "Forgive me, but I was not aware that Tython was known for its game. Aside from the recent Flesh Raider infestation . . ."

The Trandoshan gave out a crackling, hissing sound that Mikah had to assume was either coughing, snarling, or his people's version of laughter. "Reckless beasts offer few points. Yuon is my good friend, only here to help recover what is missing."

"The Jedi holograms," Yuon went on. She nodded at Qyzen, who took his leave while Mikah followed him with her sightless gaze, curious. Eventually her new master led her to the next room, where Master Parr handed the girl two things, one a holocommunicator, and the other which elicited a small gasp.

"My Trials are to begin?" Mikah could barely contain her excitement. She pocketed the communicator and ran her hands over the sleek second object, finding the button on the side and activating it. A bright viridian blade leapt out, humming with the energy of the crystals inside. Yuon only smiled as the delighted Mikah waved it about, eventually deactivating it and placing it carefully in her belt.

"Your Trials began long ago," the Jedi Master intoned. "They started the day you came to this Order. But yes, I believe that you are ready. Frankly, I'm shocked you didn't go through them ages ago!"

Mikah thought back to the condition of her last Master, and could understand perfectly why. Not willing to confess that tidbit, she only shrugged. "It . . . was not my place to know."

"No matter. Anyway, as Qyzen mentioned before, we're missing a hologram. A very important one. Without the whole set, the other ones are . . . less than useful. But we know for a fact that it wasn't damaged as it was spotted being handled in the local Twi'lek refugee village, just down the path. I'll authorize you to take a speeder there."

"Me?"

"Oh yes. After all, you were the one who recovered the others – it's only right that you finish this task, I think." Yuon paused, a note of uncertainty coming to her voice. "Considering whose teachings are contained in that hologram, you might understand way. Tell me, are you familiar with the Font of Rajivari?"

Of course Mikah was. Master Rajivari was one of the founders of the Order, first established on Tython. Consequently, he was also the first Sith – or rather, the first Jedi to defect to the Dark Side. He and his followers apparently waged a bloody pogrom against their fellow Jedi several thousand years ago – and thus the story of the Font began, which was said to contain Rajivari's last teachings. There was no proof to substantiate those rumors, but they persisted anyway, until they became nothing but myth.

Mikah paused for a few seconds, inwardly wondering what were the odds that this "myth" was the very thing Yuon Parr had come to Tython for, and that this "myth" was in fact a very real object much like the supposedly mythical Fork of Horripilation that her fourth Master had searched for, _and_ that this supposedly mythical object would get her killed in some horrifically violent manner (poor Master Kane, at least he was One with the Force now).

Despite the stormy and cynical thoughts that were now stomping their way through Mikah's head, she answered quite calmly, "I have heard of it. Master, this hologram – it has something to do with the myth of the Font?"

Yuon sighed and tucked an errant bit of brown hair behind her hair. "The hologram _is_ Rajivari. Each of the ones you recovered were in actuality rudimentary holocrons that, when combined together, hold a great deal of Jedi knowledge. The one that was stolen in particular contains many of Rajivari's teachings – teachings which could do a great deal of harm in the wrong hands."

"Forgive me Master, but if it was stolen, that means it is probably already in the wrong hands."

Master Parr smiled, and her demeanor brightened in Mikah's sight. "Precisely. Luckily there's no chance of someone taking it off-world without Jedi consent, so we know that it's still somewhere nearby."

"You mentioned a Twi'lek village?"

Yuon's countenance grew dark and Mikah detected a flash of deep blue in her energy – a sign of resignation or regret. But which? Her tone, however, betrayed nothing, and Mikah was impressed at the level of control her Master presented. Perhaps she had experience with other padawans, or younglings? It struck Mikah then how very little she knew about her new Master. "Yes, founded by refugees from Ryloth. They call themselves Pilgrims. We cannot officially sanction their stay here on Tython as that would jeopardize the Council's neutrality, so they receive no support from us and have had to fend for themselves. Padawans occasionally venture into the village to take part in the Pilgrim's Path ritual – an adventurous little custom that you might want to look into, rather fascinating really – anyway, it's called Kalikori Village. Use your judgment and trust your instincts, Padawan. They will not lead you wrong. Question the villagers about the holocron and report back to me as soon as you can."

* * *

And so it was that Mikah was sent on the second adventure on Tython, this one proving only to be slightly less dangerous than the last. Luckily, as she had been permitted a speeder, she didn't have to take a hike across the Flesh-Raider-strewn-landscape all the way to Kalikori Village, but after the reception she received there, she felt it might have been preferable.

Between the overly reticent twi'leks who refused to tell her _anything_ about the holocron, she had been besieged left and right by _very_ friendly twi'lek villagers: "Oh Jedi, find my son, he ventured off into the wilderness!" "Oh Jedi, help me with my project, the Flesh Raiders are acting strangely and I want to know why!" "Oh Jedi, heal my wounds, I have blisters on my feet and they really hurt!"

Some of the delusions that the local twi'leks held about the Jedi Order greatly disturbed Mikah; while some of the locals were convinced that the Jedi were useless pacifists who wouldn't lift a finger to help without the Republic's precious consent, a few others swore up and down that the Jedi were the closest thing to divinity. Mikah had never felt divine in her life, but she didn't dare try to argue with them, especially with the manic eyes that some were giving her. After trying her best to help those she could, she was almost too tired to bother investigating Rajivari's missing holocron.

However, it seemed the Force was on her side today (though she still refused to believe that the Force had any sides of its own); a particularly noisy twi'lek at the center of the village spilled the beans after she flashed him the lightsaber on her hip.

"What is the common phrase – pure Sabacc," Mikah murmured to herself. Rajivari's holocron had been stolen by some former dueling champion who fancied himself a force-sensitive, _and_ the self-appointed protector of Kalikori village. Apparently he'd become reclusive and secretive lately, until he just dropped off everyone's radar completely and had stolen the holocron, returning only to the village to proclaim that he would have the Jedi's secret knowledge or somesuch so he could become all-powerful.

To Mikah, it sounded like basic insanity, if insanity could ever be called basic. This 'Nalen' had been last seen making his home in a Flesh-Raider-infested cave somewhere off to the north, which is where Mikah had headed off on foot after checking in with her master.

Somehow it only seemed par for the course that, upon entering the cave and fighting through yet another horde of Flesh Raiders, Nalen wasn't quite ready to parlay, and instead tried to collapse it on her. She could feel the resentment and fury rolling off of the disturbed twi'lek in waves, and it had momentarily distracted her, giving Nalen the opportunity to bring down the ceiling on Mikah's head.

If she hadn't been trained as a Jedi, Mikah Vosh would have been very, very angry. As it were, she was only put out. Maybe slightly miffed. Also, very concerned for Nalen Rannoch's mental health, as now it appeared Tython had an up and coming Dark Jedi on its hands.

It only figured that as soon as Mikah trudged her way out of the half-collapsed cave (after some extensive acrobatic feats and force-speeding her way in-between the falling stalactites in order to escape unscathed), Kalikori's most desperate would come to greet her. "Jedi, come help me, please!" "Master Jedi, my jewelry was stolen!" "Jedi, my son went missing again, that darn rascal – track him down for me, would you?" "Jedi, blargh, yo-you all suck, you know that?" "Oh Jedi, I prayed for you to heal my sick child and begged at the gates – clearly you have arrived to answer my prayers!" "Hey, there's a Jedi, come on everyone, let's give her the cold shoulder!" "Oh look, a Jedi. Ugh. Prissy, dress-wearing creeps. And it's one of those ones without the eyes, look dear. Weirdo."

She nearly brushed them all off, especially the rude ones, but it wouldn't do to refuse someone help when they truly needed it. That wasn't the Jedi way. So, instead, Mikah Vosh sighed and braced herself for a long afternoon. As she did, Mikah began to wonder . . . the conditions in the village were bad enough with the Jedi's firm noninvolvement, the increased flesh raider menace certainly wouldn't earn her Order any favors. Sometimes, Mikah had to wonder what exactly was going through the Councils' heads.

* * *

"So essentially Nalen, what you're saying is that your plan was to, what," Mikah began slowly, "destroy this archaic structure?" She gestured gently behind her at the tall Forge, where in the old days, Jedi lightsabers were made. The building was falling apart, and likely had been for years. No one but Jedi Master Shan had visited it within the last few centuries, so it was to be expected. Still, very sad.

Nalen opened his mouth to respond, but closed it, and then nodded yes. A dark scowl crossed his face. "You have come to stop me. Our paths now merge, and it's your time to die. You won't stand in my way."

"I _am_ standing in your way," Mikah noted calmly. "I will always stand in your way. That is why you will always fail." She turned to his twi'lek companions, all familiar faces from Kalikori, each armed with a vibroblade and an identical expression of terror. Their eyes seemed fixated on the pulsing green lightsaber in Mikah's left hand. She reached out to them through the Force, touched their minds, and with a wave of her hand, let a suggestion take hold in their consciousness. "You want walk away in peace, and return to your village," she commanded. "This does not concern you, it is not your fight."

They all blinked, and it was the young girl in the front who spoke first, dropping her vibroblade with a clang. The others followed suit. "W-we want to go home," she professed. "We wanna return to the village, Nalen."

Nalen was beyond furious. Mikah could sense that much from him. He reached out with the Force, the same as she had, but his touch was clumsy and unbalanced, causing his friends to flee back down the valley and towards the ruins. The padawan spared a hope that they wouldn't trigger any of Kaleth's traps; even if she'd disarmed many of them, the place was loaded.

"And now, the final injustice," Nalen spat, "you sch—"

" _Ssssss_!" Qyzen seethed, advancing. " _Scorekeeper's Herald_ , she is! You respect, or die!" Nalen, despite his anger, stepped back from the infuriated Trandoshan. After what Nalen had put her through these past two days, Padawan Vosh was half-tempted to let the angry hunter have his way with the crazy idiot, but that was (sigh) not the Jedi Way. She placed a hand on Qyzen's shoulder and bid him back.

"Be still." She turned to Nalen, who wisely hid his tongue. "You took his points from him. It is only right that you return them. As they cannot _be_ returned, however, justice must take place. Nalen, you are being taken into custody by the Jedi Order and will return with me to the Temple to answer for your crimes."

"I would rather die."

"Can be arranged," the alien hissed.

"I will not permit you to die," Mikah said simply, and willed Nalen forward with the Force, pushing him to the ground with a flick of her wrist. "That is not to say that you will not be harmed, of course." She then summoned his blade to her side, making a point to tuck it in her belt in plain sight, where he could not reach it. Nalen's Force mastery was impressive considering his lack of tutoring, but he was not at Mikah's level and the young dark Jedi knew it. So instead, all he was left to do was scowl.

Meanwhile, Qyzen got to sit back and send scary looks the ex-dueling-champion's way, chuckling whenever the man got unnerved or whimpered. Mikah figured the Trandoshan had earned it.

She reflected back on the day's events, and realized she'd learned almost nothing during her Trials that she did not already know. Though she did learn a great deal about Trandoshans. The bit about getting captured means losing your _jagganath_ or 'points' from the divine 'Scorekeeper' was actually not new to her, as she had done research on Trandoshan traditions after meeting Qyzen Fess for the first time. Finding him in that cave, imprisoned, had been quite a shock – he was a formidable foe and an excellent hunter, according to Yuon. Discovering that he had taken to calling Mikah the Scorekeeper's Herald (for whatever that meant, Qyzen's explanations helped absolutely nothing) was even more of a shock.

Of the things that Mikah learned about Trandoshans that were actually of _value,_ though, there were only two. One: they hate racial slurs almost as much as Hutts do, maybe even more. (Hence Nalen's beat down after he had the gall to call Qyzen a lizard. Mikah almost didn't stop him. _Almost._ ) Two: they have extraordinarily keen senses of smell. This lesson led to the final and most irritating nuisance of Mikah's day:

"Wait," Qyzen said suddenly. They stopped, Nalen scowling, Mikah listening, and Qyzen . . . _sniffing?_ "Smell Raider. Raider should not be here. Droids kill them all."

Mikah immediately looked to Nalen. "Is there something you want to tell me, Nalen? If you were a Flesh Raider in disguise, it would make an awful lot of sense," She asked, half-serious.

Of course didn't respond. She hadn't expected him to.

"No," Qyzen explained, "is small. Tiny. Fresh. Young. There," he pointed, and started stalking off. Mikah followed pushing Nalen in front of her, curious.

But that was when, of course, she heard the shrieking. Gnashing, tiny, little shrieking sounds coming from the ground. Qyzen pointed down at it, looking vaguely surprised by what he saw. Mikah winced, and braced herself. Thinking back, she didn't wonder if she wasn't better off on Dantooine. There weren't any babies or children on Dantooine. Or Flesh Raiders. Just exploding Masters and rabid Kath hounds. Those she could deal with. What Mikah Vosh could _not_ deal with was children. Tiny little sausage fingers, grasping at her, sniffling all over the hems of their clothing, rubbing their dirty faces all over every clean surface – kids were the worst. Babies were equally bad because they _had_ to be cared for, because to not do so was considered immoral. Babies couldn't help themselves. They were naturally terrible people. Just the worst sort of lowlifes you could ever run into, right next to Flesh Raiders.

And of course, of all the terrible scents Qyzen's scaled nose had to pick up, it was the scent of the only abandoned Flesh Raider baby on the whole of Tython. He looked at her, and she looked at him. He silently asked, 'what should we do with it?'

She sighed, and picked it up, concealing the urge to grimace and drop it as it shrieked into decibels that were illegal in civilized space. She knew it was wrong of her to think such thoughts, but she couldn't help it. As long as she didn't give into those occasional dark thoughts, Mikah figured she was safe.

Though would wonder sometimes, when she was alone, when exactly following the Jedi Code was going to pay off. Of course, wasn't that the point? That it wouldn't pay off? That it was a duty, nay, a privilege, to be a Jedi? And then she looked at Nalen's sorry state, and remembered why it is that she was this way; because the alternative had always been out of the question if it meant becoming a thing like unto him. And she was glad.


	3. Color

* * *

> "In the arena of logic, I fight unarmed." --RM, _8-Bit Theater_ , Episode 836

* * *

USEMP7482/  
LOG ENTRY 139.1:

 

> _Quesh was a bust.  It’s all my fault.  Crazy Pubs tried to nick Leigh and Tor while they were signing up for that phony ad deal!  I should’ve listened to the Mando’a in the first place – that kind of stuff is beneath us.  I just thought, you know, easy creds, right?  Well I won’t be thinking that again._
> 
> _No harm, no foul, Leigh says.  ‘We got ‘em, Mako!  Don’t be so hard on yourself.  We’re five-by-five.’  I don’t even know what that means, except she says it all the time.  Maybe it’s a Zeltron thing?  I don’t know a lot about Zeltrons.  Had to do a lot of research when Braeden first told us about her.  All I can say is thank the stars for my implant, right?  Information’s never been so easy to nab when your brain’s hardwired into the HoloNet._
> 
> _I don’t know . . . [static]_

* * *

 LOG ENTRY 139.3:

> _. . . Occurred to me that it’s not just Zeltros I don’t know a lot about, but Leigh in general.  Nowadays we’ve made such a name for ourselves that dropping the name “Cress” is enough to make idiots keel over in fear.  You’d think she was a Sith with the way the Imps have been bowing and scraping lately.  Well, not all of them do, at any rate.  Not since Quesh with that whole mess where the – and this is no joke, this happened – the Supreme Chancellor himself – put a bounty on her head.  Yeah._
> 
> _For ten MILLION credits._
> 
> _We’re the most wanted criminal scum in the galaxy because of a laundry list of things we didn’t even do.  I got a lot of buzz on the HoloNet about it not five seconds after it happened – apparently we’re being blamed for the bombing of Maklu VII, the failing of Telos’ ec—[static]_
> 
> _And the list goes on.  We’re still getting pinned for stuff.  All because of one Jedi?  Because of one bounty?  I don’t know what we’re going to do.  Leigh says she’s got a plan, but she always says that.  And those plans never work.  I’m not insulting her by saying this, this is just a fact: every time we get out of a jam, it’s because of pure dumb luck.  Creepy Sith Guy claims that the Force is fond of her, whatever that means.  Maybe the Force is with us.  Sure would explain why all these Jedi suddenly hate us for no reason._
> 
> _Oh, I forgot to mention Creepy Sith Guy.  Big guy on the Dark Council name of Darth Tormen contacted us, claiming he had a job.  Leigh won’t spill the beans but I think I know what the job is about.  She said that he could help our names get cleared, get the 10 mil cred bounty dropped.  I don’t know about the others, but I’m sure not going to miss getting shot at in every port we stop in—[static]_

* * *

LOG ENTRY 152.2:

> _How well do you know a person?  I’m used to people not knowing who I am.  I’m little Mako, the girl with the tech, the pilot.  Leigh called me her partner once, and I kind of took it for granted._
> 
> _I’m not trying to be maudlin here, but honestly, how is it that one second you think you know a person so well, and the next you don’t?  You live with them for months, even years, and then one little thing gets out and suddenly it’s like you’ve never even seen them before.  There’s just this person there with the same familiar face that you knew a few minutes ago, but the person behind it is totally new.  They’re a stranger._
> 
> _Leigh Cress.  Lisa Nowell.  Alix Trexler. Lana Chross.  The Miraculous Idina.  The list goes on, and it just gets weirder and weirder.  I overheard her tell Gault once that she had a ‘colorful past.’ I thought she was making a crack about her and Gault having colorful skin, but this is kinda . . . whoa.  I admit I did a bit of digging behind her back.  There are a lot of aliases in there.  It’s getting hard to find a name she hasn’t gone by!_
> 
> _I asked her about it earlier – I mean, I thought about keeping this to myself, but that’d just be one more lie I didn’t want to deal with.  And I’m a bad liar anyway.  I tried to apologize to her for going behind her back but I wanted to know . . . I don’t know what I wanted to know.  Maybe I just wanted some assurance that everything we were doing, all the jobs, all the adventure – everything that’s led up to this wasn’t just another identity in the book.  Wasn’t just a cover for another alias._
> 
> _Leigh grinned and laughed it off.  She does that a lot.  She told me that it was okay, that I’d gone behind her back, but she wished that I’d just asked her.  I was worried that if I asked her, she’d just redirect the conversation and we’d somehow end up talking about guys or laser scopes and flamethrowers.  She has just this way of . . . flashing a smile and getting what she wants and it works.  I don’t blame her for it, it’s a Zeltron thing; the manipulation of pheromone levels in their body to control emotional environments is an unconscious reflex in her species.  That’s why they say that you always get along with a Zeltron.  It’s physically difficult not to._
> 
> _Anyway.  I’m not really sure what to think about it.  She’s still my friend, at least, I hope she is.  I wouldn’t want to be my friend after going behind someone’s back like that.  Still can’t believe I did that.  I feel terrible.  It’s just hard to come to terms with the fact that there’s an entire person in there, with a past and a life that I’ve never even heard of.  She knows everything there is to know about me – which I admit isn’t a lot, since I don’t know everything there is to know about me.  But she’s helped me a lot in finding out more about my past and myself . . . and yet Leigh’s lived entire lives outside of bounty hunting.  She’s been so many different people and done so many different things._
> 
> _Me, this gig is my life.  But I don’t know for sure what it is for her.  From the files of data I have on her old identities, it sounds more like she just became a bounty hunter to escape._
> 
> _Man this entry is long.  Ah, crap, I forgot we’re coming out of hy—_

* * *

LOG ENTRY 165.3:

> _Sooooo, I had some more free time while Leigh and Torian went and did their thing on Hoth.  We’ve been hunting down some strange folks lately – this one’s a Trandoshan name of Renegat Vause who, ah, I guess it doesn’t matter.  He’s probably frozen in Carbonite by now._
> 
> _Anyway!  So I had a free moment and I thought I’d do some more digging about those aliases.  I asked Leigh after I confronted her about it, if she’d hate me if I looked into it, and she just shrugged.  I’m not sure she was paying attention when I asked but I took that as an okay._
> 
> _Leigh could write an autobiography and it’d sell millions.  Did you know she used to be a smuggler?  No, of course you didn’t, you’re an audio log, and you wouldn’t know anything unless I told you.  But get this, that’s not the best part – she was a smuggler in the employ of the Republic!  Yeah!  She was one of those contracted smugglers during some of the skirmishes on the Outer Rim.  She actually fought against the Empire!  The gal with the shock of white hair and magenta skin, “Lisa Nowell,” was some crack pilot who’d swoop in with medical supplies, rations, and artillery out from under the enemy’s nose._
> 
> _The last record of Lisa Nowell shows her stopping off on Coruscant after a job on Ord Mantell, meeting up a gambler, and then getting accused of murder. Yeah, the details are a little sketchy.  She was never convicted, but all records of her disappear after that.  Not a single trace.  She was declared dead a year ago, but by that point, Leigh Cress had dropped off on Nar Shaddaa and met Braeden, and the rest is history._
> 
> _I guess this explains why she always refuses to pilot the ship.  If everyone knew she was a crack shot pilot, they would start to draw conclusions._
> 
> _Ooh, and not only that, but guess what?  Okay, so back on Balmorra when we were still on the Great Hunt, Leigh ended up getting buddy-buddy with this Sith. (Don’t ask, it was_ really weird. _) We, with this Sith apprentice guy, were hired by Darth Lachris – yeah, the former governor of Balmorra?  She was offed by a Jedi strike team a few months ago – to undermine the Balmorran Resistance.  Anyway, somewhere along the way I remember Leigh making a kind of off-hand comment to Mezeth about being a sex worker back on Nar Shaddaa . . . I thought it was another one of her tactless jokes.  Well guess what!  Alix Tr—_

* * *

The squeal that came out of Leigh’s mouth was probably the most outrageous thing Torian had ever heard.  It wasn’t right, coming from the _beroya_ he’d gotten to know over the last few months.  It just wasn’t _right._  

Given that she was probably the oddest person he’d ever met.  Leigh Cress was one contradiction after the other; one second it seemed like her _mirshe_ was screwed loose, and the next she was an indomitable _naast._ He’d seen her fall for the simplest of pranks, laugh uproariously at _di’kutla_ jokes, and yet could still manage to disseminate a rifle in less than thirty seconds and somehow look beautiful while doing it.

But that kind of squeal did not belong on anyone, not a human, a _Mando’ade_ , a Zeltron, or even a Jawa.  Not anyone.

And speaking of jawas, the poor little guy in the cage looked frightened and let out a few apologetic squeaks, handing the pistol back through the cage.  Her squeal eventually tapered off, and that was when Torian realized it wasn’t a screech of fear like the one she’d had when facing down the spider in the cargo bay (that had been a difficult image to wash from his mind), but a squeal of delight.  An expression of the strangest, most profound joy he’d seen yet crossed Leigh’s pink face as she knelt down to the little jawa’s level and re-holstered her favorite pistol.

“You are the **cutest** effin’ thing I’ve ever seen!”  She gushed.  She grabbed the bars of the jawa’s cage and leaned forward, causing the little guy to take a step backwards when her big blue eyes were suddenly inches away from his face.  “What’s your name, buddy?”

The Jawa looked around shiftily.  “ _Is big pink lady here to help Blizz?_ ”

Leigh looked genuinely confused.  “I dunno, is your name Blizz?”  Torian had to repress the urge to sigh.

“ _Yes,_ ” the Jawa nodded a few too many times, “ _Blizz get his name from Old Boss.  Then big blue people take him when Old Boss leave Blizz behind.  He gave Blizz his name!  You here for Old Boss, yes?  Blizz can help!  Blizz like to help._ ”

“Oh!”  Leigh visibly brightened and stood back up, placing her hands on her hips and standing in a pose that she thought looked professional.  He assumed that no one had the heart to tell her otherwise, either because it made her happy or because she had _very_ good aim with those blasters of hers.  “Well, then, Blizz, yes!  Big pink lady is here to help you.  My name’s Leigh Cress, and this right here is Torian Cadera, and we’re looking for a big ugly guy name of Vause – these Chiss tell me that he hired you and some other Jawa for scavenging through the White Maw pirates?”

“ _Yup!_ ”  The Jawa chirped.  Torian couldn’t tell from underneath that dark hood, but he thought the guy looked pleased.  “ _Blizz good with technology, worked for Old Boss, promised to take Blizz away from sand-home.  Blizz miss his sand-home sometimes, but not too much.  White sand is very cold though._ ”

“It is, isn’t it?”  Leigh frowned.  “I don’t know people live here on Hoth when it’s cold and full of ice monsters.  Seems kinda silly to me.”

” _Blizz think it silly too,_ ” the Jawa went on, Leigh hanging on the little guy’s every word, “ _but not mind too much.   He see lots of new things, have lots of adventures.  Blizz glad to be on Snow-home, but he not like being in cage.  Already escape three times.  Big blue people getting harder to trick!_ ”

“Those Chiss _are_ pretty clever,” Leigh agreed easily.  “And pretty, too.  Not as pretty as me, though,” she added hastily, absently running her fingers through her white-blonde hair.  After a second she knelt back down to the jawa’s level, and Torian could only watch, stunned, as she reached through the bars and gave the little guy the hug of his life.  The Jawa looked pretty shocked too; Leigh just gave a manic grin, giggled, and let him go. 

“Oh, this is gonna be the best adventure ever!”  Leigh gushed, and then said quite seriously, “we.  Are gonna be.  **_Best_** _. **Friends**_.”

The poor Jawa looked so confused, Torian almost felt bad for him.  Almost.  “ _Is big pink boss lady happy?  Then Blizz happy too!_ ”

Torian had heard somewhere that it was the infamous Darth Nox who wrote the book on insanity.  Now that he knew better, he only wished he didn’t.  He wasn’t sure of he was supposed to kick back and laugh or run away screaming; with someone like Leigh in charge (Leigh, who was as likely to hug a Jawa as she was to set it on fire for insulting her hair), both would be considered perfectly reasonable reactions. 

Yet . . . being on her crew, watching her six, picking up after her messes; he wouldn’t trade it for the world.  _Aliit ori'shya taldin –_ she’d proven to him the truth of that in the short time he’d gotten to know her.  That was enough for him.  This was his clan now, and she was the most important part of it – her questionable mental state was part of the package. 

As he watched the bounty hunter chat animatedly with her newest and greatest fixation yet, a smile on her face brighter than a blue sun, he could do nothing more than helplessly shrug.  He’d put up with her neurotic fear of insects, her borderline obsessive personality, her gambling problem, her fathomless gullibility, her love of flamethrowers, and that weird thing with that one Sith and the balloon if it meant she would smile like that all the time.  He’d accidentally eavesdropped the other day back on the Mantis while she was discussing her ‘colorful’ past with Mako, but honestly, he didn’t care.  He knew the meaning of loyalty.  _Aliit ori'shya taldin._ Family is much, much more than mere blood.

Besides, it’s not as if Torian trusted anyone else to watch her _saviin shebs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: There's continuity confusion here. Because I'm not in the mood to re-write the whole thing, here's what happened: BH gets the Blacklist and continues those missions per Canon, takes a side-trip to Quesh, gets framed by Supreme Chancellor then, is contacted by Darth Tormen, but continues the Blacklist up until the party on Nar Shaddaa, whereupon BH is presumably pissed off enough to go along with Tormen's plan. Hence why Vause is only just now being dealt with despite everything. If it doesn't make sense, I don't really care.


	4. Family Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing: The Smuggler.

> "A true friend stabs you in the front." -Oscar Wilde

* * *

"Risha," I managed. I was beyond mad, I was infuriated. I managed to stifle the emotion before I did something stupid, but I'm pretty sure I gave myself away because she backed up a few steps, obviously afraid.

"I'm sorry, Captain, I—"

"Risha," I repeated, cutting her off. "'Sorry' doesn't cut it. That was locked for a reason."

"Well I know that _now,_ " she said, still managing to sound pissy despite the fact that she was totally in the wrong. "And I'm sorry if my apology doesn't cut it, but I can't do anything other than apologize. What's done is done."

That was scoff-worthy. I leaned against the wall of my quarters and let out a derisive snort. "You could _sincerely_ apologize, instead of being snippy about it, and admit you were wrong to go through my stuff, and promise to never do it again. Not that I'd believe any sort of promise from you, considering what you just did was a major breach of trust. I'd love to know what you were thinking, but I don't really care."

"Hey, I said I was sorry!" She insisted, and Force help me, she actually did sound sincere. Which was rare, you know, for _her._ I mean, I liked her, I really did, but she drove me insane, you know? She was fun to banter with, and I valued her wit, and we worked great together… but I never thought she'd go so far as to go through my stuff without my permission.

"This is trespassing," I told her.

"We trespass all the time," she said wryly. "This sort of behavior isn't unusual for people in our line of work." She sat down at the edge of my bed, next to the "Personal Item" she'd found in my locker, and sighed. "I really am sorry. I would never have done something like this ordinarily, but . . ."

"Do go on, I'm interested in hearing your excuses," I deadpanned.

She didn't even glare at me. Not one sign of defiance, not even a bat of an eyelash. Another unusual thing, for her. I normally tried not to read into people's auras, but my intrigue over her uncharacteristic behavior was overriding my anger of her rummage through my things. I looked at her and did a cursory read, allowing me to pick up on the surface of her thoughts and emotions. The prevailing wind was shame, which I admit shocked me. She actually _was_ sorry. 'Risha' and 'apologetic' just didn't go together.

Against all logic, "I'm sorry," she said softly.

Instead of the snarky thing I was going to say, I told her, "I believe that you really are sorry."

She looked up at me and some of the negativity disappeared from her countenance. Risha was one hell of a woman, complicated, temperamental, and sassy. All part of why I liked her. She kept me on my toes, which is something I valued more than my blaster - and that's saying something, because this blaster has been with me through thick and thin. We'd been involved, on-again-off-again (not my blaster, Risha - and at her insistence, because if it were totally up to me, we'd be on _all_ of the time) while she wish-washed between wanting to be the ruler of Dubrillion or sticking to a life of crime and adventure. I thought that she was my friend, and that I could trust her, so this invasion of privacy actually did hurt me quite a bit. I didn't allow that hurt to show, though. I knew better than most the value of protecting your feelings, and there was nothing stopping Risha from one day getting up and abandoning me and fleeing off to Dubrillion to marry some pompous noble kiss-ass. I was prepared for that eventuality, and I thought she understood that . . . But apparently she didn't trust me any more than I trusted her. When the shame and fear disappeared, her aura diminished and some of the hurt she felt shined through.

I hadn't considered that maybe, through my actions, I had somehow inadvertently hurt her feelings. Really, I didn't. I mean, I pissed people off on a daily basis, on account of how great I am and the people around me either love me or hate me for it, but I didn't go out of my way to hurt people's feelings. Pride, yes, but not feelings. Especially not the feelings of the women around me. Being one of my kind, I'm a natural empath, so I'm sensitive to the mental and emotional states of those around me. It's easy for me to form bonds with people . . . And it hurts when people break or betray those bonds. Hence why I don't get 'close' with people. I was hurt by what Risha did, but now I got the sense that I wasn't the only one who was hurt.

I was also getting tired of the not-a-conversation Risha and I had going on. This was going nowhere. "You gonna tell me why?" I asked, making sure I sounded brusque. Again, didn't want to give her the illusion that I cared, especially if it turned out she had gone through my things because of a really stupid, petty reason.

"You know more about me than anyone else," she began slowly. She looked up at me, trying to make eye-contact (which was I guess a habit humans had, until they remembered who they were talking to), and kept her gaze on my face. "Did you know that? I've told you more about my life and upbringing than anyone else. Ever. I've never been close to anyone, never had anyone I could call a good friend until you came along. I was always alone. Even with my father; I never talked to him about issues, or feelings. I think I felt closer to my father when he was in carbonite for ten years than I ever did when he was around, probably because the memories I do have of him were better than the reality. I like to think that I turned out pretty great, all things considered—"

"You did turn out pretty great," I couldn't resist interjecting.

She smirked. "Glad we agree on that."

"Even if you don't understand basic social boundaries," I continued, "or the concepts of privacy and personal space." She glared. My turn to smirk.

"I understand them, I just choose to ignore them when following them isn't in my best interests. Like I said, you know more about me than anyone alive . . . And I know next to nothing about you."

"Nothing? You know I'm in a musical group! That's more than most people know."

Risha rolled her eyes. "Anyone with access to the HoloNet could have told me that, except they wouldn't have needed to, because _I_ have access to the HoloNet. The only people on this ship who didn't know that were Corso and Bowdaar, because Corso's a farmboy who grew up under a rock and Bowdaar is Bowdaar. I'm . . . Not sure what his taste in music is, but it makes sense that, being a slave to Drooga, your name wouldn't have rung a bell."

"Well, fine, then . . . Uh, hey, you know I have a sister!"

"Yes, you have _a_ sister, whom I know nothing about except for what you've said in passing. I know you said that she makes her money as a bounty hunter, and was also in the band, but that's it. I don't even know what she looks like since there aren't any images on the HoloNet of her without wearing a mask or costume, and the one time I caught a glimpse of her was on your holocommunicator and she was wearing a helmet. I don't even know if she's older or younger than you."

"I'm older by a minute," I explained, "making me the older one. A minute isn't a big deal to most people, but it is to twins. It's a huge deal, and it's been the subject of an ongoing argument she and I have had since we were seven."

"That's more than I knew about you a second ago," Risha admitted. "I still don't know anything else. You have a twin sister; that's it. I wanted to know something real about you."

"What?" I guffawed. "You're one of the few people in this galaxy who know Fi-Fi is my twin sister! And even fewer people know she's a bounty hunter . . ."

"Which is great, if I were trying to get to know your sister, but I'm trying to get to know you. I mean, who are you parents? Or are you and your sister orphans? Where did you grow up? How and when did your acquire this ship? You're a musician, a smuggler, a pirate, a gambler . . . How do you do it all?"

I buried my head in my hands and groaned. The Risha I had met before Taris wouldn't have been caught dead admitting something like this, which could only mean . . .

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

This was the worst thing about women, in my opinion. Though to be fair, it wasn't a trait exclusive to women - it wasn't restricted to human women, either. It was just people in general. Even with the people I kept around just as friends, it always came down to _this._ It was my curse. 'How are you feeling?' 'Where are you from?' 'How come I always do all of the talking?' 'Where's your family?' 'Where'd you learn to fight?' 'Where'd you pick up your skills?' 'How are you so lucky?' 'Why do you never talk about yourself?' Over the years, I'd been forced to come up with several different series of plausible lies that I would cycle through with various people. Occasionally I'd come across someone who didn't give a damn and seemed satisfied when I told them flat out that my past was a closed book. Those people were the ones I treasured the most, because they were so, so, _so_ hard to find. I'd prayed that Risha would never get to this point - actually _prayed_ \- but I was always secretly afraid that it'd come down to this one day. I mean, on the one hand, I really liked her - more than I'd liked any other girl I could remember liking. Even when - sometimes, especially when - we annoyed the living piss out of each other. On the other hand, this was a subject that I could never get past with her. It would never go anywhere.

"I don't know what possessed me to go through your locker, I really don't," she went on casually, her tone indicating that she was more or less back to her old self after the shock of me catching her in the act, "and I already said I'm sorry for that. I don't know what I was hoping to find, but I didn't find it. I wanted to know more about you, because I was curious, and I knew you wouldn't tell me if I asked."

"You didn't even try to ask," I pointed out, even though she was right and I knew it.

"I didn't have to try, I knew," she asserted, like it was this absolute fact. In that moment, I couldn't help but love and hate her a little bit each, for that self-assured-ness. It was one of the most attractive things about her. She was far too smart for her own good, and she knew it. "As much as I may want to learn more about you and your _mysterious_ past," she went on, emphasizing 'mysterious' in an overly dramatic way, as if it were some joke, "talking to you about it is like talking to a brick wall. I think I went through your locker because it felt unfair, that you know so much more about me than I did you, and like the no-good dirty cheater that I am at heart, I wanted to even the field. But, it didn't work, and I'm no closer to learning anything about your history than I was before, because now I'm left with more questions than I originally had, so you can rest easy. No real harm done, right?"

I stepped away from the wall and had been pacing while she was speaking. When she was done, I approached her, grabbed the Personal Item she'd stolen from my locker, and held it carefully in my hands. I kept it in the dark, and only ever took it out when I knew for certain I was alone . . . Or I felt nostalgic. Risha's narrowed eyes followed my every movement, like I was a puzzle she had to study to figure out. I stared down at the object, my sight seeing things inside it that Risha could never see. "Did you activate it?" I asked her.

"I tried," she admitted. "It didn't work."

"Why didn't it work for you?" I asked, feigning innocence.

She shrugged, her gaze falling from me to the door, glazing over in thought. "If I had to guess, it's coded to a specific user. It looks newer than the other holocrons I've seen. I've retrieved and sold a few over the years to interested buyers, but never attempted to activate one. I had always heard that only Jedi could activate them."

"Jedi _or_ Sith," I corrected. She perked up at my correction, and I could feel the metaphorical gears turning in her head. I cut off her train of thought before it could get away from her. "Sometimes they're even specific to certain bloodlines, so only those with the correct bio-signature can activate them. You shouldn't have gone through my things. This is private for a reason, Risha."

"I know!" she assured. "I said I was sorry! What more do you want?"

Where she sat on the end of the bed, I plopped down next to her, facing the side. I put the holocron in my lap and examined it carefully. "In order to use a Jedi holocron for its intended purpose," I told her, my voice going into instructor-tone, "you have to be Force-sensitive."

"Oh damn," she said, not missing a beat, "and here I was hoping to renounce my sinful ways and join the Order."

"Nah. Those robes are terribly unflattering. They'd hide your ass too much."

"I think I could pull them off."

"Maybe. You just want a lightsaber, admit it."

"Having one would be kind of nice, but I've heard they take a lot of time and practice to master, and I'm not sure I have the disposition for Jedi training," she snarked. "I think I'm too diabolical."

"You could always defect, join the Sith."

"I've heard the Sith retirement plan is a blaster to the gut, so no, thank you. I'm happy the way I am. Plus, if I really wanted a lightsaber, I could steal Guss'."

I was about to tell her that Guss' lightsaber was broken, but stopped myself because I was pretty sure Guss told me that in confidence. The quick and easy banter but the two of us at ease for a while, but afterward, the silence became stifling.

Finally, she spoke up. "Shlaine, why do you have a Jedi holocron?" She asked. I could tell it was a question that she had been thinking about for some time.

"I'm amazing, I think we can both agree on that," I started off, making sure my voice was full of bravado, "but being amazing - amazingly enough - doesn't come naturally to me. Believe it or not . . . I wasn't always great at everything."

Risha's smile was barbed. "I find that hard to believe. I find it even harder to believe that you're pretending to admit that you aren't completely full of yourself."

"Oh, I am," I disagreed, "totally and utterly full of myself, but the difference between me and the next hack is that I'm not a hack. I am genuinely good at everything I try to do. And, while some of it is natural, like my charm and my _incredible_ good looks, the rest of it took time. I had a lot of time growing up to dream about what I wanted to do with my life. You could say I spent most of my childhood dreaming. What I wanted most, when I grew up, was to be free. All of the people around me were tied down by stupid stuff, like duty, or loyalty, or commitment, or love. My mother, most of all."

"You've never spoken of her," Risha said softly. "In fact, I didn't even know you had a mother. See, this is the sort of thing I was looking to discover when rifling through your stuff. Insider knowledge!"

I stared at her, and though it wasn't visibly clear I was glaring, I think she got the message. "Sorry," she said, utterly insincere.

"No. Don't pretend to be sorry when you're not. It's irritating. Anyway. I love my mother, so does Fia. She could have tossed us aside when we were born. It would have been the prudent thing to do. But she raised us, tried to be a real mother to us. It wasn't easy, and she was busy a lot. The Republic was constantly calling on her to do this and that. She had a duty. They tried to make her into a diplomat, and she refused the position for years until they agreed to pay for all three of to relocate us, her, me, and my sister, to Voss."

"Your mother was a Republic diplomat?" Risha sounded confused, awed, and something else I couldn't name. "I can't imagine she was pleased about her children's choices of professions. No offense intended."

I sighed, and turned the holocron over and over in my hands. The motion soothed my agitated nerves. I hated talking about my family to other people, but Risha deserved to know _something_. Hacking that lock couldn't have been easy, and a part of me felt like, oddly, that she deserved some information for her effort. Even if telling her something solid would only cause more questions. I knew that if I trusted her with a little bit of information about my past, it would stop her from going through my things in search of answers in the future. That alone made it worth my time. "My mother was never a diplomat, that was just what the Republic wanted her to be. She's never expressed anything but pride in Fia and I, and we know she loves us unconditionally. She's very dear to me. People in my line of work have enemies, and I'm sure you can image a suitably horrible fallout of those enemies found out I had a family. Luckily, my family is pretty kickass and they can all defend themselves, but still, I don't wanna add to that, you know? That's why I don't talk about her."

Risha was silent for a while. When she spoke, she surprised me. "That must be wonderful," she said, a wistful tone in her voice that I had never heard before. "To have a parent like that, who loves and supports you."

I nodded. I was afraid that if I didn't go on, more questions would pour out of Risha, questions I wasn't prepared to answer. "Anyway. She raised my sister and I. I never really knew who our father was, until Mom deemed I was old enough to understand. Our father left when Fia and I were young, and we never knew why. Mother would tell us that he loved us, and that was why he had to leave - to protect us. She would never explain what we needed protecting from, and all Fia and I knew of our father growing up was his shadow. His shadow was everywhere, it followed Fiachna and I throughout our lives. She was always fascinated by him, where I . . . I think I just hated him. I hated the few memories that I had of Dad, and I hated that he left us, but most of all, I hated that he never came back. Mom always insisted that one day, he would come home, but he never did, and I hated him for leaving our mother behind. I don't remember ever seeing her truly happy. Sure, she always looked happy when we playing games and having fun, but I felt that deep down inside, she was miserable. I hated my father irrationally for that. Once I found out the whole truth, and no, not ever getting into _that_ mess with you or anyone - things started making sense, and I didn't know how to feel about anything. I grew up, then left home, left Fia, left everything. I kept in touch. Went to Nar Shaddaa, took up gambling, got lucky and won this ship in a sabacc tournament. I found out I had a knack for piloting. I couldn't, in good conscience, sign up for the Republic war effort, so I took up odd jobs. Skirted the law. Basically, I dicked around. And that's what I've been doing ever since. Fia, she kinda followed after me for a while, but . . . I dunno. Mom always said she had more of our dad in her.

"I've roamed around aimlessly for a while. I don't think I'm aimless anymore, but I'm not ready to stop roaming. This really is the only kind of life there is for me, Risha."

We sat there in silence for a while. Eventually, Risha got up the nerve to point out, "that didn't answer my question, you know."

"Well, maybe this will," I said, and pushed two buttons on the side of the holocron, activating it. It whirred into motion, coming to life, and began to float in my hands. Through my innate Sight, I could see the Force as it flowed through the circuitry, its unique design bringing to life the half-solid hologram it projected into the surrounding air. Blue and white light unfurled out of it, and I heard Risha gasp as the light coalesced into the appearance of a young woman. I knew the woman in the holocron better than I knew myself, though I'd only ever seen her through the physical sight of others, in their minds' eye. Golden skin, and long dark hair. In this image of her, she wore a ceremonial eye-mask that now donned my sister's face, which had been passed down in our family from mother to daughter, per tradition. The woman in the holocron wore the simple pale robes denoting the rank of Jedi Master - the youngest to be given the title in over a thousand years. Nowadays, Jedi Master Vosh tended to prefer a simple veil, and dressed in whatever the weather permitted. The real woman wore a lightsaber, not the same one as the one in the holocron - her first lightsaber - but didn't bother to wear Jedi attire, as a sort of in-your-face protest to those in the Jedi Order who have frowned on her choices over the years.

"Who-?" Risha spat out.

The holocron cut her off. " _Risha Drayen, I presume_ ," my mother's image spoke in her languid, soothing voice. " _I was watching as you struggled to activate me earlier. It was a little amusing hearing you curse about it, which is why I didn't stop you. You should know, my son was lying when he told you that you have to be Force-sensitive to activate a Jedi holocron._ "

"Hey," I protested.

She went on, like I hadn't said anything - typical of Mom - " _You cannot deny the truth, my son. It does not require a specific talent, or a certain midichlorian count, to activate this device. Merely the correct intent is enough._ "

"You-what? Intent? What? How did you…?" Risha was totally speechless, and I was loving every second of it.

Mother's holocron patiently continued. " _This holocron was created in my youth, after I was given the title Barsen'thor and named Jedi Master, twenty years ago. My name is Mikah Vosh, and I am the mother of this young man. He stole me from the Jedi Temple, where I had previously been living in peace amongst the archives with my fellows. Now I dwell in a damp locker, forgotten."_ Was it my imagination, or did the holocron seem displeased with me for that?

"Hey! It's a nice locker," I protested, and the fascimile looked up at me with the faintest of smiles.

Risha's speechlessness was not going to last long, much to my chagrin. "Hold it!" She cried out, and angrily put up her hands. "Hold. It. What? Your mother is _Jedi?_ "

"Shout it to the whole world, why don't you," I shot back. "Keep your voice down! This isn't common knowledge, Rish! And you said you wanted to know something about me. Well, here you go."

"Your mother is Jedi Master Mikah Vosh?!"

The holocron seemed to blink, and then asked in a flattered tone, " _Have you heard of me? That's nice,"_ she nodded, smiling widely, " _I wasn't aware that I was well known._ "

"I wouldn't say well-known," I was about to go off, but then Risha had to cut me off (again).

"Calling you well known may or may not be correct, but I've heard about you. Then again, I try to be in the know on recent history. Your name has popped up more than a couple of times. I heard about the Rift Alliance, for one. And that whole mess with the droid ship thing, years back, that got hushed up."

" _I was created before those events took place,"_ stated the holocron, " _but the actual Master Vosh later gave me additional perspective on the events of her life some ten years after the birth of her twins. Would you like to hear about the failed Rift Alliance?"_

"Thanks, but no thanks," Risha spat, "I'd like to hear more about the fact that your mom's a Jedi, and how come no one knows about this?"

I shrugged. "It's not really common knowledge, and there's a reason Fia and I keep it a secret. It could mean danger for people if they find out who we are. Could also put mom in danger. That's the last thing either of us want."

The gears in Risha's head started churning once more, and before I could stop her, she turned to the holocron. "If you're his and Fiachna's mother, than who is their father?"

The holocron went silent for a time. " _I'm sorry, Risha, but I can't tell you what I don't know,_ " Mikah Vosh' image said. " _My creator neglected to program me with that information. All I can say for certain is that this topic evokes deep and conflicting feelings in me - sorrow, hope, and other feelings that I have no names for. There are absences in my memory banks, either removed intentionally or withheld by the original._ "

The energy in the room kinda drained out after that, so I tried to make light of the situation. "Like I may have mentioned, Dad is a touchy subject," I mock-whispered. Risha didn't say anything.

The holocron of my mother seemed fixated on Risha for a while. " _You are an interesting girl,"_ the image of my mother deemed. " _You complement my son well._ "

Risha seemed shocked. "Uh, thank you?"

The holocron nodded her head. " _You're welcome. I urge you to understand my intentions when I say this - my family are all that I have. Shlaine has done well, and I know that although the original, organic version of me may not contact him as often as she would like, she is very proud of him, and of Fiachna. The love I have for my family is the most important thing to me. That is why this must be kept a secret. No one can know that he has this holocron. No one can know his heritage. If certain factions found out I was his mother, it would raise inevitable questions that neither I, nor the Order, are prepared to answer. The secrets my family keeps are important, and they are kept for a reason. Risha Drayen, I am choosing to trust you to trust my son's reasons for the secrets he keeps. He has grown from being a rambunctious boy to a good man, and would never hurt you intentionally. The things he does, he does for good reason. Trust in him, if you trust nothing else."_

With that, the image of my mother deactivated itself, which was a little unusual. I knew that holocrons were a little self-aware, but it was always disconcerting when they displayed signs of that awareness. When the light faded and the holocron floated back into my hand, now silent, I put it back into my locker and locked it. I felt briefly sad at the quiet that came when my mother's voice faded . . . After all, I did miss her, and all the holocron amounted to was a painful reminder of the currently estranged relationship my mother and I had. I resolved that I would probably have to visit soon. Or just call. Or at the least, just send a message. Didn't want to be overwhelming, you know. Bah. I'd think about it later.

Risha stood up when I did, and followed me out of the door out my quarters in silence. The ship was quiet, most of everyone being asleep. She kept following me all the way to the mess, which is when she finally spoke, her voice subdued. "That was . . . something."

I smirked. "Bet you didn't see that one coming, eh?"

"No, no I did not. I'll keep your secret, but you have to answer one more question for me."

"I might answer."

"Good enough. Question: that lightsaber that was at the bottom of your locker, do you know how to use it? And if you do, why don't you use it?" She leaned forward across the counter of the mess as I ransacked one of the bottom compartments for the alcohol. I knew there was some Corellian whiskey down there, if Corso hadn't drank it all without me. I did find the bottle after a few seconds of searching, though it was half empty, which meant I was going to have a talk with that boy in the morning about drinking my booze. If he was going to drink _my_ booze, he was going to have to drink it with me.

"That was two questions," I said as I took a deep swig from the bottle, because I couldn't be bothered to look for a cup.

"Oh, come on, quit playing coy."

"That lightsaber is missing its primary crystal," I lied to her in lieu of an answer, and drank some more, loving the feeling of the warmth from the alcohol. In all honesty, I hadn't known that she had also seen the lightsaber. That thing had been in a separate compartment in my locker, with its own lock. I should've checked it first, but I was too distracted by my anger at her for invading my privacy. Women! Ugh. This is why I had been known to occasionally take a break from women to date men. Hell, I didn't have a real preference - man, woman, alien, whatever (though I drew the line at droids, simply because it isn't fun flirting with something that's programmed to like you). At least you could trust that a man, no matter his sexual proclivities, to not go rifling through your things because they 'wanted to get to know you.' Maybe it was the whiskey I was daintily sipping (read: chugging), but the more I thought about it, the more it sounded like the biggest bunch of bantha shit I'd ever heard. Why had I shown her my holocron again?

Risha rolled her eyes for what was what, the eighth time in the last two hours? I wondered if she had a quota on daily eye-rolls, and if I could ever reach it. I was on a roll. I'd have to really try for it one of these days, see what happened. "That didn't answer my question and you know it. I'm going to assume 'yes,' because that would be more entertaining if it were true, and I doubt you'll ever tell me the truth anyway."

I took another drink. "Assume away. All truth is subjective."

"Is that some Jedi wisdom?"

"No, it's Shlaine wisdom."

"I wasn't aware you had any wisdom."

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm incredibly wise."

"I find that hard to believe."

"No, really. I'm going to write a book full of Shlaine wisdom. I'm thinking of calling it, 'Shlaine's Bag of Tricks.' What do you think?"

"That a terrible title. How about, 'Shlaine's Guide to Drinking, Thieving, and General Skullduggery?'"

"See, that's an even worse title. I like the word 'skullduggery,' though. Let's do something with that . . ."


End file.
